


Persuasion

by LinneaLund



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Boarding School AU, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 06:07:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3967279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinneaLund/pseuds/LinneaLund
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy / Clarke / Lexa threesome military boarding school fic. Clarke Griffin knows her friendship with roommate, Bellamy Blake, is doomed to failure, but she figures if it’s already going down in flames, she might as well enjoy the heat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lighting the Fuse

Bellamy’s been friends with Clarke Griffin eight months when she suggests it.

“You’ve gotta be kidding, Clarke,” he scoffs, hoping the blush rising up his neck can be attributed to the hot sun as they run circles on the outdoor track. “You’re crazy!”

“Maybe,” she retorts, bumping into his shoulder, making him stumble and lose his pace. “But I still wanna check it out.” She giggles. “C’mon, Bellamy... it might be fun! Get to find out who all the kinky people on campus are.”

Bellamy can’t help but laugh. In seconds he jogs back up to her side, matching her stride the way he always does lately. The two of them, in the last months, have become inseparable both in and out of class. Bellamy has never been so happy that his mother chose a co-ed boarding school for him.

“What would _you_ get out of it,” he teases. “You don’t even have a _boyfriend_ to drag along.”

She scowls at him, the sun fading alongside her expression. Clarke’s last break-up with now-expelled student (and rumored psychopath), Finn Collins, was particularly unpleasant for everyone. He took a group of fellow students hostage, a situation that had ended with the use of tear gas and a SWAT team. (Mount Weather Academy - with their century-old reputation to uphold - has since hushed the situation up.) But Bellamy can’t say he minded consoling Clarke at the Ton DC nightclub afterward. There’d even been a fumbled kiss in the stairwell at the dorm… one Bellamy hasn’t forgotten and Clarke apparently doesn’t remember.

“The poster says you don’t _have to_ be in a permanent relationship to go to the meetings,” she answers, then winks. “I figured I’d take you along. Then _you_ could be my ‘date’.” She’s smiling again and it feels like the day is warmer. (And it is, because she’s in it).

“Me?” Bellamy says incredulously.

Clarke cackles with laughter.

“Yes, Bellamy,” she say, pulling away from the quad and heading toward the distant dorms and the showers, expecting Bellamy to follow. (And, of course, he does). “I think it’ll be fun!” She glances over her should at him. “What? You too chicken to come?”

And then, of course, he can’t back out.

: : : : : : : : : :

Bellamy Blake has been Clarke's best friend since she arrived at Mount Weather last fall and was assigned to be his roommate. Co-ed facilities are the norm at the boarding school, though coed room placements are a rarity. Clarke’s name has been the butt of endless jokes in her short life, but for the first time she doesn’t mind the male-female mistake, and once she’s in, there’s no going back. She and Bellamy are opposites in almost everything, and yet somehow it all works out. Clarke has never had a lot of close friends – growing up as a NASA brat on numerous space stations meant she moved every year or so. But Bellamy now... he’s different.

For one, he tolerates her moods. Mornings bring out the worst in Clarke. (She knows this for a fact). But Bellamy teases and cajoles her until she clambers out of bed throwing whatever is near enough at hand, while Bellamy (already dressed and ready, damnit) taunts her from the door.

“Hurry up, Princess. You know what Professor Wallace will say if you’re late again.” She’d be pissed if it wasn’t for knowing she wouldn’t have made a single morning class without him.

Bellamy, of course, has his own issues which Clarke endlessly harasses him about, but secretly doesn’t mind. (If she had a little sister as wild as Octavia, she’d be twitchy about misbehavior, too.) Bellamy bitches and complains whenever Clarke wakes him up at three in the morning, stumbling in from the bars, but he’s quick enough to laugh her escapades off the next morning. Lately, Clarke’s taken to dragging him along to Ton DC, in all its seedy, tumble-down glory. Bellamy always starts off as starched as the Mount Weather cadet’s uniforms they both wear each day, but get a line of shooters in him, and he’s a different man. The fingers that felt her up in the dorm hallway while he kissed her breathless the other night certainly didn’t _feel_ like an amateur’s hands.

_Which is now a problem._

Clarke’s never been good at relationships... _ever!_ And her penchant for inspiring declarations of love (and occasionally stalkers like Finn Collins, the latest ‘ _love of her life’_ ) is only matched by her ability to destroy them. She’s the one who started the kiss – stumbling and falling into Bellamy as they reached the dorm room door – but she’ll be damned if she’s the one who pushes it forward. As far as Bellamy seems concerned, nothing happened that night, leaving Clarke in the frustrating half-life of living with a best friend she wants as more.

She’s considered finding someone else to fuck until this ‘ _thing’_ she’s been toying with goes away. Just close her eyes and think of something else for a while. (She’s certainly done _that_ before.) But lately, Bellamy’s always around: in her classes, in the dorm room, in the showers, on the quad. Clarke loves and hates the proximity of him, and so she teases and laughs and waits for the tension to break (or for her to do something stupid to screw it up as she knows she will eventually.)

And then the posters begin appearing around campus.

_Interested in Polyamory? Mount Weather Polyamorous Society Looking for New Members._

Clarke pulls one down and tucks it into her pocket. This is the perfect excuse to light the fuse that’s been smoldering for months. If her friendship with Bellamy is doomed to go down in flames anyhow, Clarke intends to enjoy the heat.


	2. Slow Burn

Bellamy shifts nervously from foot to foot, waiting as the room fills up, Clarke silent and wide-eyed beside him. Tonight’s meeting is being held in the basement of the Sciences Building, but somehow being here – in civvies rather than his Mount Weather uniform – is making him all the more nervous. The Polyamorous Society has a charter and a background going back at least four generations on campus, but it’s the first time Bellamy’s ever heard of it. “ _Multiplicity in Love and Relationships_ ” is their slogan, and it’s emblazoned on a large red and gold banner across the front.

The thought of that terrifies him.

Around them, other people are coming into the room: older students and giggling first years. Clarke shifts nearer, her fingers nervously finding his. He’s just about to ask if she wants to leave when the meeting is called to order, the door banging closed behind them, shutting them in. Suddenly privacy agreements are being passed around (Clarke’s hand still in his), and health forms being submitted (Clarke’s hand still in his), and then the group mixer begins (Clarke’s hand still in his), until the two of them are finally paired off with a single woman... and then it’s just the three of them, standing by the side.

“Lexa,” the stranger says, offering her open palm. She’s a senior with long dark hair, sooty makeup around pale eyes, and a lean, muscled frame. The sight of her gaze on Clarke leaves Bellamy nervous. With a tight smile, Bellamy reaches out his hand, forcing himself to respond.

“Bellamy Blake,” he manages to say. “First year cadet.”

“Ah... I remember those days,” Lexa says, her eyes drifting insolently down Clarke’s body. “Good times... good times.”

Bellamy fights the urge to roll his eyes. (‘ _Those days’_ are at most, three or four years ago.)

“And I’m Clarke Griffin,” he hears Clarke add.

Lexa smiles warmly at Clarke, her arms crossing. “Clarke, you say?”

Bellamy feels a twinge of annoyance that the first threesome of his life is going to be with someone he _already_ feels competitive with.

“Have you been assigned a house squadron yet?” Lexa asks, and Bellamy feels Clarke’s fingers tighten. “I’m Trikru,” Lexa adds. “Legacy.”

“Skaikru,” Clarke mutters.

Bellamy knows it costs her something to admit it. The newest ‘house’ at Mount Weather is by far the least popular, full of delinquents and troublemakers. (Bellamy nearly quit when he saw his own name on the roster.)

Across from them Lexa’s face breaks into a wide smile. “So you’re _that_ Clarke!” she laughs. “I knew your name was familiar.”

“It was?” Bellamy says.

Lexa doesn’t seem to hear him, her gaze is intently focused on Clarke. “You’re the student who led the Skaikru squadron during the field training exercises,” she says, offering an open palm for her to shake. “That was damned fine manoeuvering. You deserved that win.”

Clarke drops Bellamy’s hand and shakes Lexa’s. “Thanks. Appreciate that.”

The two women begin laughing and smiling like old friends. And it’s at that moment that Bellamy realizes that tonight is a really fucking _terrible_ idea.

: : : : : : : : : :

Clarke can hardly walk.

They’ve been doing shots, one after the other, in the small, enclosed booth at Ton DC for hours. Bellamy’s angry at her for some reason which Clarke’s whiskey-soaked mind can’t _quite_ figure out. He doesn’t _have_ to be here – in fact, she’s been expecting him to walk out for the last hour and a half – but, against all odds, he’s stayed, one hand pinned to her knee under the table, the fingers tightening whenever Lexa leans in. Clarke, herself, keeps her hand in her jacket pocket, rubbing a coin she’s had there since the start of the year.

Now, on the inky streets beyond Mount Weather Academy, Bellamy’s silence stretches out, pulling him away from her. Clarke’s hand drops back into her jacket, finding the coin once more. It’s a quarter Bellamy gave her - though he probably doesn’t even remember it - way back in the first week of school. Clarke didn’t know anyone then except for Bellamy, her roommate, and when she ran out of coins for the lockers, he gave her one.

It seems like a dumb thing to have kept, but it was given without expectation. She slides her fingers into her pocket now, fingers tightening around it, smiling to herself. Struggling to walk a straight line, Clarke bumps between the two of them, ping ponging back and forth as they head away from the bar. The motion leaves the world around her swirling.

“Time to go home,” she sighs, and Lexa slings her arm over Clarke’s shoulder.

“Your place or mine?” she asks like a stupid line from a movie, and Clarke begins to giggle.

Bellamy scowls as Lexa moves closer. (She’s the only one of the three of them who’s done this before.)

“I’m off campus,” she purrs, raising a narrow brow. Her gaze flick to Bellamy. “There’s plenty of room.”

Even drunk, Clarke knows that’s a good suggestion. The Polyamorous Society is a legitimate organization, but public drunkenness on campus will still result in a D and D. Clarke’s already on probation; she can’t risk another. (Her mother would kill her.)

She stumbles at that thought, and this time it’s Bellamy who catches her. He’s been drinking, but he’s not _that_ _drunk_ , and now he’s got her pressed tight against his hip, his hand warm where it slides under the edge of her jacket. Clarke’s arm drops around his back, her other arm finding its way around Lexa’s waist. She hooks her thumbs in both their beltloops, smiling to herself.

 _Bellamy’s still here,_ her mind whispers happily. That feels like a huge victory.

“Off campus is probably a good idea,” Bellamy mutters. (It’s the first time he’s spoken in at least ten minutes). “And Clarke and I can grab a cab back afterward.”

“Sounds good to me,” Lexa says, but Clarke hardly notices. Her mind is caught on the word ‘ _afterward’_ and all that is going to happen before then. She takes a shaky breath, and apparently Bellamy hears. He leans in, mouth brushing the shell of her ear.

“You okay, Clarke?” he whispers. “We can still back out if you want.”

But this time, instead of answering, Clarke turns and kisses him.


	3. Incendiary Devices

It’s a tangle of legs and arms in Lexa’s bed. Bellamy should be thinking of how wrong this is, but strangely enough, with the buzz of whiskey running through his veins, he cannot force the thought to _mean_ what he wants it to.

Clarke’s here, and she’s more than willing, her body lush and white in the dim room, while he and Lexa circle her. Bellamy watches – shocked and excited – by the sight of Lexa’s face between Clarke’s thighs, Clarke’s legs wrapped over the other woman’s shoulders. He gasps. Someone’s hand – _Lexa’s hand..._ he realizes – is stroking him in time to Clarke’s pants, the pressure of her fingers more assured than the other girls Bellamy’s been with. Anxiety fights with the throbbing of his cock. If he didn’t have Clarke’s breasts laid out before him, her nipples in his mouth, he’d fight the sensation of Lexa working him. As it is, he gives in.

Clarke mouth, next to his ear, is open in a wet ‘o’ of desire, her mewls of pleasure leaving him riding waves of desire. Bellamy’s been pulled right into the centre of the snare, and he finds himself simply refusing to think. _Go from the gut,_ is what Clarke always tells him. Tonight, it seems, he is.

Clarke lets out a keening moan and Bellamy lifts his head.

“Something else,” Lexa pants, full lips damp and shiny.

Bellamy considers kissing _Lexa_ and how he’d taste Clarke on her tongue if he did. That thought has his balls tightening, and Bellamy closes his eyes, fighting for control.

“Fuck!” he hisses under his breath, and the hand stroking him abruptly let’s go. (Either taking it as an order or realizing how close to spilling over he is.)

By the time Bellamy opens his eyes again, Lexa’s kneeling before him. Clarke leans in and kisses him as Lexa takes his cock in her mouth, her tongue rough where she finds the edge of his head, before sliding down. Low... lower... _lower still._ He can taste whiskey on Clarke’s tongue, feel Lexa’s mouth encircling him, teeth rasping. She’s rougher with his cock than other women have been, too.

His mind goes white with sensation.

Bellamy gasps in shock, fighting down the need to come, right then and there. He grabs Lexa by the hair (harder than he should be), holding her steady while he pulls himself back together. _Not yet! Not yet! Not yet!_ a panicked voice inside him screams. He’s hardly moved away from the edge when one of Lexa’s hands slides away from Bellamy’s hips to find Clarke kneeling on the bed beside them. The kiss doesn’t end, but Bellamy can feel the moment when Clarke’s attention moves away from Bellamy, and over to her.

The realization shocks him. Lexa’s distracting him on purpose. The kiss breaks as Clarke moans and her head falls to Bellamy’s shoulders.

“Oh god, Lexa. Oh god…”

Bellamy’s almost beyond thinking, but he looks down to find Lexa crouched between his legs, mouth around his cock. But that’s not _all_ she’s doing. Her right arm is outstretched. Three fingers pump into Clarke, wet and glistening, Lexa’s thumb circling her swollen clit. Again, he fights the urge to spill his seed.

For a time the world funnels down to sensation: the slick sound of Lexa’s mouth, pressure building, Clarke’s head on his shoulder, Bellamy’s hands moving over Clarke’s breasts. But he’s annoyed at the game Lexa’s playing. With a final battle of wills, he finally shoves her away, her mouth releasing his cock with a loud pop. Lexa’s wiry, but Bellamy’s stronger, and he urges her to the edge of the mattress so he can stand, Lexa spread-eagle before him. He takes position between her legs, sliding in and revelling at the change of sensation. Watching their bodies join, Clarke lets out a tremulous moan.

Bellamy doesn’t kiss Lexa - doesn’t even lean down to be near her – as he thrusts. He holds her knees under his arms, digging deep. Still panting, Clarke moves to the edge of the mattress, leaning down to fondle Lexa’s breasts. She traces them gently with her tongue, then moves up the woman’s neck, drawing paths with fingers and lips. When she reaches Lexa’s mouth, all Bellamy can see is the back of Clarke’s head, and the tangled brown and blonde hair spread across the sheets. The panicked near-release of minutes before eases. Bellamy is back in control as his thumb moves between his and Lexa’s body. She moans something in a language Bellamy can’t understand and his thumb picks up speed. He knows she close when her thumbs dig sharply into his hips. He pumps harder. Suddenly Lexa groans, her body shuddering. Bellamy takes a shaky breath and slides free, the air of the room cold on his painfully-hard cock. Lexa rolls away from Clarke and Bellamy, curling onto her side. Her lashes flutter closed.

 _Now!_ his mind orders.

Bellamy won’t think. Won’t stop. Won’t regret. (Not yet, at least). Tonight, he flips Clarke onto her back (ignoring Lexa’s hand sliding gently over his side) and pushes into her.

“God, Clarke…” he moans.

The throbbing sensation from his groin stabs deep inside him, begging for release. Clarke’s tighter and wetter than he expects. Bellamy drops his head down to kiss her. Her hands wrap his shoulders as he pushes his tongue into her mouth, his mouth determined to keep pace with the thrusting of his hips.

Clarke’s already close. Bellamy can feel it in the tenseness of her limbs and the shaking of her calves as she hitches her legs over his hips, her arms wrapping around him, pulling him deeper, deeper. It feels like he’s on fire, and she’s the flame. He wants to burn. Poised on an edge of ecstasy-ridden pain, Bellamy grinds himself into her body, judging and altering his motions against Clarke’s reactions. He hits a particular spot, and suddenly Clarke breaks the kiss, her voice loud against his ear as she cries out in climax. She’s shaking, shuddering, screaming his name.

“Bellamy!”

Her whole body tenses down – tighter even than Lexa’s mouth had been around his cock – inner muscles stroking him. And with that, Bellamy is gone, his body rushing outward. Ecstasy and the sudden relief of pleasure wrap around him until he falls, spent, into Clarke’s arms. He can barely keep his eyes open, but he feels Clarke brush his lips as he falls into the half-conscious sleep of the sated. He wants to speak, but he can’t.

What would he even say to her?

: : : : : : : : : :

Afterward, they take a cab ride back together.

Bellamy is quiet, but no longer moody. He lifts an arm up as he slides across the cracked vinyl of the seat and Clarke tucks herself against his chest. All the way back, he strokes her hair, turning once to press a kiss to her temple. Her fingers, in her pocket, are wrapped around the coin once more.

She doesn’t know what spell has been cast in this, but she doesn’t want to break it. Even as they walk up to their room (careful not to touch as the RA is watching from the front desk) she feels it drawing around them. In their dorm room, they both get ready for bed, dropping their soiled clothes into a single laundry basket, stepping back and forth, touching sometimes, and not others. Quiet and softened by tonight.

The last thing out of Clarke’s pocket is the coin, her talisman of friendship. She smiles to herself, putting it carefully next to the picture of her late father she keeps on her dresser. Behind her, she hears Bellamy climbing into the lower bunk. Clarke turns toward the ladder, but then he speaks.

“There’s room here.”

And with that, she turns back around, climbing into the bed with him, smiling to herself as Bellamy’s arms slide around her waist, tucking her, like a ‘c’ into the hollow of his body. She lets out an exhausted sigh, her muscles aching but content, her body warm, a smile on her lips. Behind her, Bellamy moves closer, pressing a kiss against the nape of her neck.

“ G‘Night, Princess,” he whispers.

“ ‘Night, Bellamy.”

 

 


End file.
